


Le cirque des mirages

by JustSomeoneUnordinary



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Metaphors, Secret Identity, Tony Feels, Underage Drinking, it's not as intense as the tags might suggest - there is fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeoneUnordinary/pseuds/JustSomeoneUnordinary
Summary: Tony Stark falls in love only three times in his whole life: once it’s with an institution and the other two times with a person. Both times it’s the same person.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 128





	Le cirque des mirages

**Author's Note:**

> You can read my own version in German [here](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5e94da2b000103bc14e3c1ae/1/Le-cirque-des-mirages).

The first time Tony fell in love he was eight years old.

His father was abroad for a week on a business trip and his mother and Jarvis took the opportunity to watch with him a circus performance. From the very second the director entered the arena Tony was completely _entranced_.

With awe in his eyes he watched the trainer tame a real lion, which almost took his breath away throughout the whole show. The horse spectacle put a smile on his face bright enough to reach from one ear to the other. Even the clowns made him laugh, although it took him only seconds to see through their tricks.

But his personal highlight were the acrobats; those men and women bending the laws of physics according to their own visions through sheer muscle strength and concentration with grace and beauty. How they performed stunts in breathtaking elegance and finesse Tony never even could have dreamed of.

Throughout the whole show his mother failed to make him sit still―because Tony, Tony felt like he was _flying_.

Even months later, his eyes still reflected the sparkle of the cheery-colorful costumes. He told everyone who wanted to hear―and those who didn’t―about his mathematical calculations, which he puzzled over for days. At what angle someone had to hold their pose in order to balance on a rope in the middle of the air, despite the strong gravitational force. How much strength it needed in the arms to swing from ring to ring without falling on the floor with a loud thump. Or how strong one had to push their legs so that another person could position themselves onto the feet.

Years passed and Tony never wished for anything other than watching a circus performance for his birthday. In every second that he didn’t convulsively try making his father proud, he dreamed of big tents, the interior filled with multicolored lights, and the feeling of warmth in his chest.

His illusions stopped all of a sudden when he was fourteen years old and his much older classmates all thought of him as boring. Instead, he began to devote himself to the art of seduction and became friendly with the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

But buried deep inside, the circus always remained his personal sanctuary.

* * *

The second time Tony fell in love he was seventeen years old.

Dead drunk and with no memory of the last three hours, he found himself right in front of a circus tent, the loud shouts from the inside announcing the beginning of a show. He didn’t know how his feet carried him to somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but instead of ordering a cab back to the MIT campus, he bought a ticket and before he knew it, he was in the middle of that turmoil that only tormented his drunken head even more.

Though the majority of the performance flew past him in a shimmer of colors and roars, he grasped enough to see that this was not a conventional circus. The acrobats sometimes lacked some limbs, knife throwers threw at each other and not at targets, fire-eaters jumped simultaneously on trampolines, clowns juggled with swords… if Tony hadn’t been so sure that he hadn’t touched a single joint that day, he would have been convinced he was high.

Just when he thought the performance was over and he was ready to go back―

“And now a big round of applause for the star of our show, The World’s Greatest Marksman! Or as you know him: _Hawkeye_!”

―the wind was taken out of his sails.

A boy, not possibly older than fifteen, entered the arena in a purple suit, bow in one hand and arrow case in the other over his shoulder swinging. His blond hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed, a scar ran across his right cheek and a devil-may-care grin graced his lips.

Tony was immediately captivated in its spell. As if hypnotized, he watched this boy shoot his arrows at the moving targets in a matter of seconds without looking at them once, and each time hitting bull’s eye. Watched the muscles of the upper arms illuminated by the spotlight move as the bow was pulled. Watched him roll in midair as he was light as a feather.

Tony couldn’t help but return the next day. And the day after that. And as often as possible until more than a month had passed and his fascination with Hawkeye still didn’t find an end at all. He no longer even looked the other attractions anymore, but only had eyes for the mysterious and mesmerizing archer.

Then, the circus did what all circuses do―they moved.

And Tony followed.

But Tony was first and foremost an MIT student, and there was only so much he could do. If he hadn’t been a billionaire’s son with unlimited access to his fortune since hacking into Howard’s bank account years ago, he would never have been able to follow them across the states whenever he had a day off.

Before he knew it, two years had passed and Tony had graduated from the university with two doctorates. The circus had once again temporarily taken root in New York, where he also planned to complete his third doctorate.

Since his third visit, he could’ve sworn that Hawkeye winked at _him_ at the end of each of his shows ― this assumption was confirmed when, once again, he was the last one left in the tent, sweetly dazed from the marijuana mixed with the bitter taste of the whiskey, before carefully stumbling outside.

“Y’know,” greeted him a chirpy-cheerful voice to his left, “they call me Hawkeye because I observe a lot and see things better from a distance. Not just see, but _see_ , know what I mean?”

“Ah, and here I thought it’s because you’ve got a bat’s sense of hearing,” Tony couldn’t help but say. At least this earned him an amused snort.

“Nah, ‘m hard of hearing and if I weren’t so good at lip reading, I wouldn’t have understood a word of what you just babbled,” came the witty answer Tony admittedly hadn’t expected. “I must’ve left quite an impression that you watch my shows regularly over two years, huh?”

Oh, _haughty_. Tony liked that a lot. “Who says I’m here for you? Maybe I’m just here because of the incredible Swordsman, ever thought about that, huh?”

Another snort. “Two words: _Hawk. Eye_.”

Technically, this was still just one word, but okay, he won that round, Tony didn’t know how to counter that.

Then, with a jerk, he pushed himself off the pole he had been leaning against and came so close to Tony that they breathed the same air. “Name’s Clint,” he introduced himself with a mischievous grin on his face. Which Tony already knew. Clinton Barton, seventeen, joined together with his older brother Barney the circus when he was only nine years old. Tony did not stalk him; those are the only information he had dug up ― he just _really_ had wanted to know who that amazing archer was.

“Tony Carbonell”, he said, like the professional liar that he was, and grinned right back.

Clint nodded once, licked his lips and asked uninhibited, “Wanna fuck?”

 _Hell yes_ , he almost shouted, if… if he hadn’t seen something in Clint’s sky-blue eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. A mixture of insecurity, fear and caution― _once bitten, twice shy_ , he thought. Tony understood that there depended more from his answer than just its semblance.

“Thanks, but not today. Perhaps some other time, if the offer still stands then.”

As if on command, Clint’s whole posture visibly relaxed, as if an invisible weight had fallen from his shoulders. _Jackpot_.

“Do you want to share a joint with me instead?” Tony seamlessly changed the subject, like he had learned from child on as the center of the media to let a conversation dance according to his pipe.

Clint shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Which is how minutes later Tony learned that Clint had never smoked a joint before. He also learned that Clint was a terrific storyteller. In particular, however, he learned that Clint’s laugh could even lighten a cathedral.

In less than two hours, the two of them became best friends. And less than three weeks of those regular meetings, they became lovers.

When one night under the starry sky Clint kissed him on the mouth without even a warning―in the middle of the sentence―it was as if the world had stood still. Chaotic and moisty and interrupted by their drunken laughter, it was the worst and best kiss of his life.

Two days later, Tony rented a shabby little flat in Manhattan that was about to collapse. Strictly speaking, he bought the whole building, but he twisted the truth there a little bit. That was the only way how he could bring Clint home without Howard knowing about it and without Clint getting wind of his wealth.

“I like your place. Nice view,” mocked Clint. After that there was not much left to say, because Tony wanted to _inaugurate_ this apartment. Years ago, Tony had already lost all interest in virgins, but Clint’s inexperience was a delight that surprised even him. Every single touch left his skin tingling and made his heart flutter in an irregular rhythm. Clint tasted like honey and smoke, like nutmeg and vodka, like strawberries and chili―he tasted like love. Even in the dim light of the apartment, Tony took every opportunity to trace the contours of Clint’s muscles crafted by his archery training, and to memorize Clint’s facial expression forever at his climax. Not even Michelangelo could have captured the subtleties of such beauty.

Being in a relationship with Clint was nothing Tony had ever experienced before. But not everything thereof was positive. There were hardly any days when Clint wasn’t covered in bandages and plasters or grazes. Most of them Tony knew that they were the result of Clint’s clumsiness, who stumbled over his own feet even on flat ground and then broke his nose masterfully. But some of them were too deep, too clean, too _precise_. Tony _knew_ what it looked like trying to make a wound look like an accident.

Once, Tony didn’t have enough whiskey left, so he brushed his teeth with gin and tonic. When he tried to kiss Clint afterwards, he was pushed so strongly that his butt landed on the floor. Clint threw up in the toilet and collapsed there, trembling and bathing in sweat. Howard may have been an absent father who never showed a shred of interest in Tony, but at least he’d never raised his hand against his own family. Tony swore to never even look from the canthus at a gin again.

Ultimately, however, the shady sides were covered by the sunny ones. Because that was how it felt like to be with Clint ― like a warm sunny day, the rays of which finding their way into his deepest parts.

After the circus moved again, Tony continued to visit as often as he could. They then spent the nights in Clint’s bed, where Barney could catch them at any moment. It was absolutely worth the risk. And Tony didn’t have the slightest clue how, but Clint managed to convince the circus director to stay in New York more often and longer. For completely selfless reasons, he claimed.

Often it was impossible for Tony to hide his true intellect, simply because he didn’t want to. Only two months into their relationship, he learned to use ASL fluently. If Clint had had more TV access or at least a little interest in magazines, he would have quickly known who Tony really was.

“You are really good with those computers, aren’t you?”

An understatement for Tony, especially considering that Clint had already met DUM-E. But he just hummed simply while he continued to work on his next AI and enjoyed Clint’s feather-light kisses on his neck.

“Can you also hack and stuff?”

Here he had to laugh softly. “Three years ago, Rhodey bet with me that I could never ever hack the Pentagon. Guess who won.”

“Cool.” There was a grin on the back of his neck Tony could literally feel.

Which was the only explanation for how it happened that Tony hacked into NASA’s server an hour later and, while he was already there, corrected a few of their mathematical equations. It wasn’t even in the top ten of the most dangerous things he had done with Clint. Their relationship might’ve been a lot of things, but sure as hell never boring.

Two years later Howard was driving drunk, killing not only himself but also Tony’s mother. From then on, everything went down the drain.

Tony almost drank himself into nirvana and when he suddenly woke up in the bed of his apartment with a pounding headache, he found Clint snuggled up next to him. Tears adorned his eyes, which were darker than usual and reminded him of blueberries―Tony’s new favorite fruit, as he decided at exact that moment.

Clint said nothing, he didn’t need to. In the end, Howard Stark and Harold Barton were more alike than Tony had first thought. He tried not to think about having no excuse anymore to take over his legacy and that uncle Obie would soon find him. Instead, he hugged Clint closely and placed a tender kiss on his temple while he could still do so. The steady heartbeat of Clint’s and his hand stroking trough his hair was the only reason he stayed sane.

Love, Tony thought, must be the power of the Gods.

Twelve days later, he received a call from the hospital where Clint was taken to the ER. He had had to be resuscitated during the operation and was now lying unconscious in bed hooked up to various machines. It was only after 37 hours that he finally woke up.

Jacques, the Swordsman, had stolen money from the circus and when Clint tried to tell the director, he was downright beaten to death. Barney had just turned his head and left him on the floor. Tony didn’t show his anger even for a second while those incidents were being recited. He waited for Clint to fall asleep again and then contacted his lawyers―after hitting the wall with his fist until it was red with blood as the rage boiling through his veins like hot lava.

Tony accepted that it was probably time to tell Clint about the things he had been hiding. It wasn’t that he had deliberately _wanted_ to lie for two years, he was only afraid that Clint would turn away from him as soon as he knew who Tony really was. His pejorative attitude towards the rich clearly spoke for it.

But Tony had the means to help Clint, so he would take the risk. He decided to address this as soon as they were home. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in the hospital.

“Yesterday,” Clint began to say out of the blue on the fourth day of his hospital stay, “one of those suit wearers came to visit me. Coulson or something’s his name. Miracle he could sit down with the giant stick in the ass.”

He interrupted himself because of a fit of giggling. The painkillers had a strong effect on Clint. “Anyway,” he continued after a few minutes, “he offered me a job. Said they could use someone with my particular skillset.”

After a long break Tony asked, “And?”

“And… I think I want to take a look at that offer.”

Tony scratched his chin where he had started to grow a goatee. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. It sounded to him as if he’d never see Clint again, as irrational as the thought was.

“Will you… will you come back?” he just had to ask, while carefully taking Clint’s hand in his and slowly following the early rough lines crafted from archery. He would never tire of the feeling of Clint’s hand in his.

This earned him a smile, so bright that his eyes shone even more beautiful than the stars in the sky. “Of course. I will _always_ come back to you, Tony.”

But in the end, their relationship had been nothing more than a circus of illusions. A world where Tony could just be himself. Not Tony Stark, child prodigy, son of the so-called ‘Icon of America’s Strength’, heir to a multibillion-dollar company―just _Tony_. A world in which he was loved not for his money or fame, but for his heart.

A world in which Clint wasn’t the victim of child abuse. In which he wasn’t betrayed by his only brother and left behind to die. In which he didn’t hurt himself just to see if he could still feel. In which he hadn’t run away from anything all his life and wouldn’t do it again. Simply a world in which he was happy.

Because that was where they both gave in to the illusion. They had been so busy with being happy that they both forgot one important thing: _Life always caught up with you_.

Twenty years and almost the end of the world had to pass for their paths to finally cross again.

* * *

The third time Tony fell in love he was forty-two years old.

Rubble and ashes had made themselves comfortable in his new home. A huge crater graced the floor of his living room and the Avengers stood awkwardly in the middle, as if ordered and not picked up.

This was the first time the circus had found him, instead of the other way around.

Clint leaned against the back of the sofa and was inspecting his bow. His face was decorated with shiners and blood, though this time Tony at least knew where they came from. His posture screamed nonchalance, but his frown whispered unease.

Without thinking about it, he stood next to him, their shoulders almost touching, and continued to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have stayed away―Clint has always had a magnetic attraction on him.

“So, you’d come back, huh?”

Clint didn’t seem fazed at all. But the days Tony was able to read him like an open book were over a long time ago. He wondered if Clint even realized that he built the Stark Tower on exact the same spot _their_ apartment used to be, before he had the building torn down.

“So, Tony Carbonell, huh?” came the snarky reply.

Okay, fair enough. “My mother’s maiden name was Carbonell, so I didn’t lie technically.”

“Well, I came back now, so technically I didn’t lie either.” And then Clint had the utter _gall_ to grin at him. Tony almost punched him.

He thought of all those days he had been waiting in the apartment for Clint to return. Thought of all those hours he stared at the telephone in case of a call. Thought of all those times he anxiously went to hospitals and police stations, hoping to find Clint somewhere there.

After six months of unsuccessful searching, he had resigned himself to the fact that Clint no longer wanted him. That he had found out who Tony really was and that he’d just left him to twist in the wind.

Whiskey had found its way through his blood system more than ever. Cocaine had blurred his reality until he ended up in the ER which is why he stopped with it immediately. Men and women had warmed his bed, imitating what he and Clint had had. His nights have never been the same again.

Even after Tony moved to California―trying to chase the sun’s rays, which Clint had always made shine for him―he never quit their apartment lease. Just in case. Instead, he installed a camera there that J.A.R.V.I.S. could access. Just in case. Throughout all those years, he had looked at the death notices every day with trembling nostrils. _Just in case_.

It suddenly dawned on Tony why the alarm bells always rang when he saw Coulson. _The new job_. Special Agent Clint Barton―codename: Hawkeye. From the circus’ star attraction to a high ranked spy. Now an Avenger. Tony had always known that Clint’s life had been nowhere near normal ever.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze back to Clint. Tony chose his next words very carefully. “In the past twenty years I’ve done some stupid things that I can’t even begin to list. Many of them were created under the influence of alcohol,” here he looked him straight in the eye without a hint of hesitation, “but not once have I even touched a gin again.”

When Clint finally dropped his mask―his own illusion of indifference―Tony was able to pinpoint it the exact moment it happened. His light blue eyes, previously disinterested and dull, shone in a new light, encased by insecurity and adoration, shame and mischief, pleading for forgiveness and radiating warmth all at the same time. A mess of feelings, each of which Tony was allowed to identify and classify.

“I like your new place. Nice view,” Clint just replied. The meaning of his words made his heart skip a beat. Warmth filled him from within that Tony couldn’t help but give him a shy smile, full of trust and hope.

When suddenly Clint put his arm around Tony’s shoulders, it was as if they were both just two stupid teenagers again, bathing in each other’s attention and the weight on their shoulders not yet so heavy that it dragged them down. The bare spot on his neck, which wasn’t covered by the Iron Man armor, tingled with the touch. Blood roared in his ears and a wave of emotions hit him so hard it almost took his breath away.

Tony threatened to lose the ground under his feet. In order not to panic and kiss Clint directly on the mouth here and now, he blurted out the only thing he could do to deliberately hide the upcoming tears in his eyes: “So, shawarma?”

Clint’s loud laugh echoed through the room like a bird’s song in a cave.

And Tony fell in love again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to, you can reblog this on tumblr [here](https://justsomeoneunordinary.tumblr.com/post/615322048496074752/le-cirque-des-mirages).  
> Or just come by and say hi. :)


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